


Proven Problematic

by 89JadedPictures



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Multi, Romance, Smoking, Threesome - F/M/M, author Hermione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/89JadedPictures/pseuds/89JadedPictures
Summary: Draco has a problem. A really bad one.Hermione has a problem of her own: She has writer's block.Blaise has his own problem: His best friend is not doing well.The three together might just be able to help one another, if they don't develop even greater problems along the way.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to mentioned that I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER!

Draco wondered if he'd ever stop feeling the way that he did. He contemplated the reasons behind the feelings; knowing, deep down, what the answer was.

But an addicted mind always fought the truth.

It wasn't the potions. It wasn't… It was him, and there was no cure for that. The substances were just a side effect. 

And this was true to some level, but not the whole of it, so, naturally, he wouldn't stop taking them, for they were only a side effect. They weren’t the reason he felt sick. It wasn't their fault that he stayed awake all night, if not for days on end, never getting enough sleep, never getting enough food or water. They weren’t why he had but one friend, his parents were estranged to him, or why he couldn't have real relationships.

It wasn't the drugs. It was him. He was always to blame. Always the failure. Always his own shortcoming. 

Being high as a kite was fine. 

Being Draco Malfoy was not. 

He was to blame. Not the drugs.

He'd known this for years. Through university when his dependency started. Through his dropping out a mere month before graduating with a Mastery in Potions. Through his and Pansy’s breaking their engagement contract. 

Well… She had broken their contract, and there were few who blamed her. His parents had been the only ones truly angered by her decision, but it only took another year of Draco continuing down the path he'd chosen for them to understand why Pansy had left, and to stop talking down on her every chance that they could. They never told Draco they figured out why Pansy had done what she'd done, but Draco knew they had once Narcissa stopped snarking, and never did so again. That day being the day that Draco had Floo’d home, drunk and high, mostly incoherent. He'd thrown up on his mother's skirts, called Lucius as many expletives as possible in one breath, and then detoxed/slept for nearly thirty hours thereafter, leaving his parents horrified as they stood watch over him.

And that had only been the first time an episode like such occurred. 

By the time he'd done this, or something similar to it, eight times, the Malfoy parents enabling his behavior for too long, guilt being their reasoning behind their decision to stick by him, Lucius finally cut off Draco’s access to the Floo. Another five months passed where the son refused any professional help, and the parents decided to cut off Draco’s access to their coffers. 

This had made the heir angry beyond belief. He'd had an emotional breakdown, a horrendous fit, in the front lawn of the Malfoy estate during Lucius’ birthday luncheon. The debacle had been witnessed by the family’s longtime friends, including the Parkinsons, leading even Narcissa to agree that a reasonable next step was denying her son access through the wards once the article was released in the Prophet. It hadn’t been a long article, there had been no mention of substance abuse, and it hadn’t been front page news, but anyone skimming through page 4 that day would have read all about how “uncontrollable” Draco was, and how “he acted like a three-year-old denied his favorite toy”. Him, their twenty-year-old son.

They cut him off entirely, stating Draco would not be invited over, nor would he be willed the Malfoy estate, if he did not get help on his own.

This sobered Draco for a while. A very short while. After an unsuccessful month of meeting with a counselor weekly, a month of imbibing only alcohol instead of strong potions, the young man went back out again.

And, two years later, Draco sat in a small, one room flat that sat above an eatery in Muggle London, on a couch covered in liquor and potion stains, weathered down to the stuffing in some places, that was positioned oddly in the front room. This served as his primary “sleeping” station, because the bedroom was used as his brewing station; the place where he made his potions, his main source of income.

Blaise would stop by almost daily, usually anywhere between noon and six p.m, to drop off the money he'd made the day/night before, and the two would partake on Draco's sickle before Blaise would take a pocketful of vials and leave out the door to get on with business. Draco hardly ever had to leave his flat. Blaise handled almost all transactions beyond the four walls. 

Occasionally, about once every two weeks, the blonde would leave to buy the meager amount of groceries he'd consume over that amount of time, his dependency not allowing him to eat more than once every twenty-four hours. He used to hit up the grocery store two blocks down, grab shitty food as quickly as he could while avoiding an array of looks from the other patrons and the employees. He was forced to switch it up, though, moving on to the grocery store six blocks down in the opposite direction, when one of the cashiers at the first store glared at him on his way out, the old woman growling “Fuckin' junkies” as he passed.

This had caused the blonde to go home, throwing his groceries down on the couch bed haphazardly, and moved quickly to the bathroom mirror he rarely used. He looked at his reflection; his sallow features made pointier with malnourished, dark circles under his eyes from hardly ever sleeping; the blemishes from stress and lack of proper sustenance; the hazed, foggy, half-lidded gaze of his dying eyes.

He was slowly dying, and nothing told this story more than the ghostly grey that peered out at him from the mirror. 

But did this revelation stop him? No. Quite the contrary, actually. It caused him to step away from the mirror, back into the adjoining bedroom, and he stepped up to his brewing station to see if his two batches of Sleepless, the potion in highest demand, were done cooling. Every now and again, out of impatience of course, he would use a cooling charm. But he noticed that the effects were that much stronger if he left it to do its own thing; to properly settle and allow for maximum potency.

To his luck, it was cool enough to imbibe, so he grabbed a tiny box from atop the dresser and set it on the empty section of the table always left uncluttered for this purpose, and brought it to full scale, the wooden trunk taking up the entire surface. He opened it, revealing a multitude of magical expandable trays, all designated to hold a certain potion, though Sleepless had always occupied three or more due to its popularity.

Draco rotated the three lone vials of Sleepless left in the bottom tray up to the top, towards the front, before he Summoned sixty empty vials from the closet to settle near the cauldrons. With practiced ease he used his wand to uncork the vials, and then filled them all simultaneously with a few quick flicks of the wrist and a familiar spell, leaving the young wizard with sixty full vials. He then quickly corked them with magic.

All except three.

The first one he took immediately, downing it like one would take a shot up whiskey. He rarely felt the first shot anymore, but the second one he took hit him only seconds after swallowing. He felt the quick beating of his heart, the racing of his mind, the buzzing in his blood. His inhibition left him, and the encounter he'd had earlier at the store was tucked into the further recesses of his mind.

He no longer cared. He no longer feared. He felt nothing but the potion coursing through his body at an unimaginable speed, and then he took the third.


	2. Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise has arranged a meeting between a skeptical Draco and a curious Hermione.

Hermione had been in a writing funk for months. Almost a year. Ok. Only six months, but either way it felt like she was never going to write again. Her career as a novelist was destined to be short-lived at this point. She was going to be a one hit wonder with her book ‘Seventeen’, which was an autobiography of her eighteenth year of life.

It had been an instant hit. 

An inconceivable amount of people had wanted to know every detail of that year on the run. Witches and wizards all around the world had purchased her book, and even though the money was great, and book-signings and guest appearances were exciting, that hadn't been why she'd written it.

People had wanted to know, and if there was ever something Hermione could sympathize with it was the incurable need to know things. This trait that some considered a “shortcoming” had saved her arse more than once, but it had also caused her problems. 

And she now had a problem. Not at all like the problem they had, and God damn was it a big one.

From a conversation she had overheard between Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, Hermione had learned the issues that Draco, yet not as much Blaise, were rumored to have. Writer’s block had proven problematic for Hermione before she'd stood on the landing just above the witches in Flourish and Blotts and listened in on their private conversation. 

Muses alluded her, caused her to contemplate literary suicide… until that day. 

Immediately her mind had filled to the brim with questions and ideas for content. It wouldn't be a novel so much as an informative work of nonfiction. Perhaps even a dual biography if she could convince the two men to open up to her. She’d promise to change the names and places, if need be, if they allowed her to know what it was that had made them choose this way of life.

She’d assumed that when she’d see Draco again for the first time in years, especially after over-hearing Pansy’s assessment (“He’s sick, Daph. Addicted and simply disturbed! The most selfish prick I've ever encountered!”), she’d feel only pity for him. She had felt pity after eavesdropping, and all through following Blaise around until she could convince him to take her to him. 

She and Blaise, though not at all close, had been on a first-name basis for a while now. They saw one another every now and again, having quick words before parting ways. Blaise had been the one to start this acquaintanceship, for he’d greeted her first while the two had been standing in two seperate lines to grab tea on a busy Saturday afternoon at ‘What’s the Tea’, 

The emotions that flew across Draco’s face when he saw her were astounding. Recognition was the first, then something akin to dread that lasted but a second or two, before it was taken by an impish smirk that began our dear Hermione’s “problem”. 

Oh gods, what a problem. 

Despite the grungy look that resembled Cobain’s all too well, she found him positively enthralling. He’d been slightly attractive before, while in school, and neared handsome afterward, before his obvious swaray with illicit substances, but he carried “addicted” now like it was something to be revered. Like it was still a thing.

In the mid and late 90s, heroin chic was “a thing”. Now, in 2004, it was quickly dying off, as were most of those addicted. 

But Draco Malfoy looked simply gorgeous as he stood at the farthest corner of the bar, dark circles under eyes aglow from the dim lights, smirk set as if it were his lips’ natural state of being; posture easy as he leaned on one elbow, feet set slightly apart; his shoulder length hair tucked back behind his ears, and only one shade darker than what it had been before. Near black eyebrows sat above those grey eyes that used to hold so much contempt when in her presence that now only held some surprise and uncertainty, and dare she think a hint of glee, as she and Blaise neared him.

“Good to see you, mate,” Blaise greated Draco, both men bringing their arms up to tap elbows in their own “bro handshake”, as if touching hands or hugging were now dull after decades of friendship. Or perhaps it was that they saw each other so frequently that any other salutation was too much?

Hermione didn’t have long to think on this, however, because Draco’s eyes, which had only lilted to Blaise for a few seconds, were right back on her, and he asked, “What is she doing here?”

He, of course, asked this of Blaise, though he never dragged his eyes from her face while doing so, and Blaise spared her a glance before saying, “We've been hanging out a bit. Nothing major before you go asking.” Hermione saw Draco's blatant surprise, and she could almost read his lurid mind; knew exactly what he assumed “hanging out” meant. “She's writing a book. Needs a… certain insight.”

“A certain insight?” Draco's eyes flashed back to her once more before fixing Blaise with a frown that showed just how dark the circles around his eyes were, and the slight wrinkling that was already appearing at the corners of his eyes, even at twenty three.

Some called them “laugh lines”. 

Hermione assumed that wasn't the case here. 

However, the blonde’s expression lightened some as he turned back to grab his drink, all the while asking, “Insight into what?”

Blaise adjusted his footing some before saying, “You know.”

Draco, though perfectly aware of what Blaise was suggesting, Hermione knew, acted as if he was completely clueless, shaking his head and saying, “That's the thing of it, B. I don't know.”

“You do, D. But it's whatevs,” Blaise backed off easily at this, instead moving to the bar to order three shots of whisky, and Hermione wished she knew why he’d ended the subject.

She didn’t understand the secrecy, the bold and courageous Gryffindor. She didn’t understand keeping everything locked up and bottled in. She didn’t understand Slytherins, and she didn’t understand addiction…

But she wanted to. Terribly. She wanted to know how one so high on the food chain could fall so far, and she wanted to depict how the war could still negatively affect someone, even after many years. Someone who lacked in intrepidity; to one not so lucky as she or the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry Potter, or the world renowned Keeper who was helping take the Chudley Cannons to the World Cup for the first time ever, Ron Weasley. 

She’d been through hell and back, yes, but Draco never made it back, and she wanted to be sure everyone who still lived out there in their own versions of hell knew they weren’t stuck there alone. She’d written about the dark side of the war before, but there was more to it than that, and she could learn more about it if she made it in with Draco and Blaise.


	3. Lightbulb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's request gave Blaise an idea for a plan of action.

He didn't know why he'd agreed to the witch's idea. It obviously had something to do with the witch herself, being who she was. It may have also had something to do with Draco and the long-standing crush he'd had on the woman, which Blaise could never blame him for considering he had a bit of thing for her himself.

Blaise had never said anything about his finding her attractive. Not to Draco anyway. The blonde man had only ever mentioned his fancying the war heroin but once. At least that Blaise knew of, anyway. He’d known Draco for forever, and was his closest confidant, and to have only heard it once he assumed he was the only one who knew. But it had been a moment Blaise would never forget, simply because of what it meant. To Draco. For Draco. It was a momentous affair, their single, short conversation on the witch.

Granted, this would have never occurred it hadn't been for the fact that the two men had been on a royal bender during Blaise’s Christmas holiday from work. The two had been up for 39 hours, and there was no end in sight for the debauchery, for they'd just taken another potion, which would normally have them awake for another six hours at least. 

But it had been somewhere near this thirty-ninth hour that Blaise had said, “Do you know who I saw in Diagon today? Ginny bloody Weasley.” This meant a lot to Blaise, considering his part-time job as a freelancer for “Quick Quidditch”, an up and coming magazine in England.

But yeah. You see... It wasn't actually “today” per say that Blaise had seen Ginevra Weasley, since it had been at least forty hours since that moment, but, seeing as he was still awake, it was still the “same day”.

“What was she doing? Shouldn’t she be in Bulgaria right now?” Draco asked. 

Ginevra Weasley was Bulgaria’s new Seeker, and Blaise loved Bulgaria’s team since he was a boy. Krum had retired to work on a dragon reserve with, unsurprisingly, Charlie Weasley, his long-term boyfriend and future husband, or so every woman in the world either hoped for or cried over, so that had left the position open for Ginny to swoop in and snatch it up. Though to much chagrin, considering the Bulgarians were a proud people apt to seeing Bulgarians man their team. But, even still, many hoped to see her and her brother Ron face off at the World Cup. 

“Who knows, mate,” Blaise said with a shrug. “But I saw her and Granger bouncing about outside the bank.”

It was here that Draco had taken a deep intake of breath, held it for a few seconds, and then blew it out with a loud, long “pfftt” of his lips.

“Bloody Granger…” Draco began with a scowl at the wall and a shake of his head. “What I wouldn't give.” 

And this was when Blaise had to blink at his old friend before asking, “What wouldn’t you give for what?” 

There was no way Draco still held contempt for the witch, was there? That would be loony! Blaise worried about Draco’s being crazed, especially because the blonde never left his apartment unless there was literally nothing in his cupboards. Cabin fever and all that.

You see, Blaise frequented the world beyond Draco’s apartment, unlike the blonde, that the green-eyed Slytherin alum had somehow managed to maintain. Draco had allowed himself to fall down the rabbit hole, Blaise had not. Apart from his writing “career”, Blaise also held a steady job as a bouncer at a club in Wizarding Sussex, which helped finance most of Draco’s “business”.

The Zabini name hadn’t been drug through the mud like the Malfoy name, and Blaise’s mum hadn’t been sentenced, let alone charged, for any crimes during the war. It would have been hard, really, considering she’d been in France with her “long-term” beau of ten months who had been none too keen on the idea of blood wars. France was sensitive about things like that nowadays. Anywho, the Zabini’s had walked away from the entire incident scott free, and Blaise moved in and out of the world as he saw fit. He even said hello to Hermione Granger from time to time. 

Nothing serious, but they’d each, even Granger!, would extend a salutation that both readily returned if they bumped into one another on the street, perhaps even a “How are you doing?”, “Well. But I am off to work.”, “Ah! Then you better get going. See you around?”, “Of course! Till next time.”, kind of thing. He’d always considered Hermione Granger to be a timeless beauty, but one he had never actually given much hope or thought to, considering.

Draco, however…

“If I could get a chance with her…” And Draco fell off. Literally. He fell off the couch, landing on his side, as he’d reached for the bottle of rum that had been sitting on the coffee table. 

Blaise burst into loud laughter, even slapping his knee, until he realized Draco wasn’t getting back up. With a furrowed brow, Blaise leaned over and shook Draco by his shoulder. The blonde only gave a grunt, and that was where he lay for two hours before Blaise was resolved to believing that the blonde was having a recovery sleep that would last at least fourteen straight hours. He finally Leviosa’d the pale man to the couch, covered him in his favorite ratted blanket, and showed himself out.

In that two hours of waiting to see if his besty would come to, Blaise gave great existential thought, on Draco’s behalf, of what the other man truly wanted out of life; who he truly loved, and what his plan was once he pulled his daft head out of his daft arse and stopped fucking around. Perhaps even get a real job, cut back on the potions, and start a family? Get his estate back and do something with himself.

Blaise knew that this had always been Draco's plan, before he’d started down his current path, and the dark-skinned man truly wanted to see this dream come to fruition. 

His best mate had a serious problem, and even though Blaise enabled this, he hated to see Draco in the state he was in. He just didn’t know what to do to help him, to lift Draco’s spirits enough for him to lift himself. 

When Hermione Granger- war heroine, author, bleeding heart extraordinaire- approached him and asked if there was any way he could reacquaint her with Draco, he had had only one objection: the blonde himself. He didn’t know how Draco would react upon hearing what the witch wanted from him, but knowing that the Malfoy heir was smitten with the Muggleborn had given him an idea.

Perhaps she could be the one to help Draco? Perhaps even together, the two could do something about his problem. Some may say that it wasn’t Blaise’s business, stating that Draco’s problems were his own, but he felt that, as the only person who cared about the man anymore, that he had to do something. 

So, as Blaise stood down the bar ordering drinks, he watched as the unlikely pair began to interact with one another for the first time in years, hoping to Merlin that something good would come of it.


End file.
